


A Sponge By Any Other Name...

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Baking, Family Bonding, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nostalgia, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 11:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16174028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: After the show was over, Jason frowned in confusion and turned to Alfred. “Why do they keep callin’ their cake a sponge? Isn’t that somethin’ to clean the floor with?”





	A Sponge By Any Other Name...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoAwayOlivia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoAwayOlivia/gifts).



> I told GoAwayOlivia that this type of story was more in her wheelhouse than mine, but she laughed at me and said "writer's block". So here we are. I am just as nuts over this show as she is now and I fully blame her for it, which seems to be the case for many of the things I write. ^.^

“Alfred! Come on, it’s starting!” Jason’s piping young voice echoed down the hall and into the kitchen. “Alfred!”

“Don’t shout, Master Jason!” Alfred called out, placing a plate of cucumber sandwiches onto the tea tray for him and his young charge to enjoy along with the afternoon tea while they watched their show. 

“Then what did you just do?” the boy called out. 

Cheeky, that was a good word to describe the youth, Alfred decided as he picked up the tray and headed toward the sitting room. Jason was so young and yet so old in many ways, having experienced things growing up on the streets of Gotham that no youth should ever have to brave. When Bruce first brought him home, he thought they would have absolutely nothing in common but, much to everyone’s surprise, Jason had an insatiable love of learning that extended far beyond the classroom and his studies as Batman’s protégé, Robin. 

A love that extended into the kitchen. One rainy afternoon, Jason had wandered into the sitting room in time to catch the start of one of Alfred’s favorite programs that he recorded and watched when time permitted, _the Great British Bake Off_. Alfred had paused it and made another cup of tea for the boy, then they proceeded to watch the show together. 

Afterward, Jason had frowned in confusion and asked a question that still made him chuckle to this day. “Why do they keep callin’ their cake a sponge? Isn’t that somethin’ to clean the floor with?” 

The next day when Jason returned home from school, Alfred proceeded to show his young charge how to make a Victoria sponge cake. More flour ended up on the floor and on Jason than in the bowl at first, but once the cake was assembled and the boy had his first bite, his eyes widened in amazement and a new passion was born. 

Baking. 

“They’re makin’ bread!” Jason announced when Alfred entered the room, his thick Bowery accent strong as it always was when he was excited. “Like how you do it, with the poundin’ and kneadin’.” 

Alfred set the tray down on the coffee table and took a seat beside the boy. He was still underweight and small for his age, even with six months of regular meals and all the snacks he could eat. It didn’t help matters that the physical conditioning he regularly did with Bruce was so strenuous on his body. 

“It must be a yeast bread then,” Alfred said, taking a sip of tea from the delicate cup. “It requires some work to form the gluten structure.” 

“What’s gluten?” 

“Gluten gives a bread its elasticity, which helps it rise and allows it to hold a shape, either from a pan or when the dough is sculpted. It also gives bread its chewy texture.” 

The expression on Jason’s face clearly expressed his confusion. “Bread can be sculpted? Yer shittin’ me.” 

“That’s a quarter for the swear jar, young man,” Alfred admonished. They were trying to clean up Jason’s language, with mixed success. 

Jason scowled, not liking to part ways with his hard earned money from various chores he did around the Manor. “You’re _kidding_ me,” he corrected himself, enunciating properly for once. 

“I kid you not. Keep watching and I’m sure you’ll see how it’s done.” 

The boy picked up a little sandwich from the plate and started eating, eyes glued to the TV. 

Mentally, Alfred added more yeast to his grocery list. He knew what Jason would want to do tomorrow afternoon when he picked him up from school. Dinner rolls were a simple enough dough to start sculpting with. 

For now, he let himself relax with a boy who was practically his grandson and enjoyed the bit of quiet time they managed to carve out for themselves. Goodness knows that the calm around here never lasted for long. 

~*~*~ 

_Six years later…_  

Jason shuffled into his safehouse feeling more battered and bruised than usual. It wasn’t exactly uncommon after an Arkham breakout, but then again, he also wasn’t fresh off a bout of the flu. He was tired down to his very _bones_ and only two things sounded good right now. Okay, three, but that was fully dependent on whether he got his ass out of the bathtub where he intended to soak away the chill of the night and the body ache he kept telling himself was from being slammed into a concrete wall and not his fever returning. 

Pieces of his uniform were left scattered on the floor as he made his way to the bathroom. He’d pick them up later when it didn’t hurt to bend over. Damn ribs, damn muscles, damn body. This was one of those nights where he seriously questioned his life choices. 

But what else was there for him? 

The hot steam of the shower helped ease the ache in his lungs and he coughed thickly, hacking up phlegm and spitting the thick goop into the drain. Stinging water from the powerful showerhead beat down onto his heavy shoulders and Jason rolled his neck slowly from side to side, one side of it popping to release some of the tension. At this rate, he would fall asleep in the tub. 

Screw it, he’d just make a cup of tea and light up one of his aromatherapy candles. Eucalyptus and mint sounded about right. This particular safehouse was more upscale than many of his other ones. Here was where he kept all the things he learned to enjoy while living at the Manor. Most of the time, they were out of sight, out of mind, but whenever he was sick or just wanted to pamper himself, this was where he came. 

Making his way out of the bathroom, Jason eyed his torn and stained uniform. Nope, not happening tonight. Shaking his head, he grunted as the living room lurched. “Fuck,” he muttered and padded into the kitchen to start the tea. His throat was starting to hurt again. Hard to believe, but after the last week of doing nothing but sitting around in abject misery, he was getting sick of honey in his tea. 

Lemon and ginger and honey. His staples for the flu, as well as a takeout menu for that little Vietnamese place a couple blocks over that delivered. He made good use of it once he was able to tolerate food again. 

Tea in hand, Jason turned off the lights and reset his alarm before carefully picking his way across the apartment to his bedroom. The candle was quickly lit, and Jason caught a good whiff of it before his nose decided to clog back up. 

Great. Just great. Relapseville, here he comes. 

~*~*~ 

Jason slept solidly for twelve hours. When he woke up, he stretched languidly and took assessment of his various aches and pains. Body ache, check. Stuffed nose, check. Sore throat…not too bad. If anything, it was just dry from all the mouth breathing he’d been doing. 

More tea, more soup, and some Netflix sounded like the perfect way to spend his afternoon. Maybe he’d wander out to the pharmacy down the street later to pick up some more cold and flu meds, as well as some more tissue, but for now, he’d pop a couple acetaminophen and call it a win. 

All of this involved getting out of bed though and it was with a definite grumble or two that Jason forced his body upright. The room spun a bit, but he waited until it stopped before grabbing his knitted afghan and wrapping it around his shoulders. 

It wasn’t until he stood up and reached for his empty mug that he noticed it wasn’t sitting on his nightstand where he’d left it earlier before he passed out. For that matter, his candle had been blown out and the jar lid replaced. 

He wasn’t alone. 

Or rather, someone had been here who could bypass all his alarms and creep into his bedroom without waking him to clean up after him. 

There was only one man who could and _would_ do that. The same man who always seemed to know exactly where all his hideouts were too. 

Jason hugged his afghan closer, and slowly made his way across the bedroom to open the door and peered out into the living room. 

Bingo. Right on the money. 

“Alfred, what are you doing here?” he tried to say, but it was punctuated by a few hard coughs. 

The old butler simply turned from where he was stacking a pile of paperback books. “Good afternoon, Master Jason. I thought you sounded a bit under the weather on the communication channels last night and I see I was right.” 

Jason sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “And here I thought I was doing a good job of hiding it.” 

“Not to those who know how to listen. Now tell me, how long have you been ill?” 

“About ten days. Been taking it easy and I’m over the worst of it. I only went out last night because of the all-hands call from Bruce.” 

Alfred shook his head and frowned. “And now you’re relapsing from the strain. Have you seen Dr. Thompkins at all?” 

“Just for a flu shot a few months ago that is clearly not doing any good.” Jason flopped down onto the sofa and coughed some more. “I’ll be fine, Alfie. Unless the shit hits the fan again tonight, I’m not going anywhere.” 

The disapproving look from Alfred said it all, but the old man knew all too well how stubborn they could all be, especially him. “At least you have that much sense, unlike Master Bruce who had to be sedated last month when he tried to patrol while still recovering from his bout with this horrible flu bug going around.” 

Jason snickered because that was typical Bruce. “I like to think I’m not that stupid. I plan on going out my second time around in another fiery blaze of glory instead of a smear on the street.” 

Alfred’s frown grew, and Jason shot him a grin that was all sharp teeth and broken edges. This was a never ending source of contention between them, his ability to morbidly joke about his first death, but how else was he able to cope with the ghosts and horrors in his head when therapy wasn’t an option? Someone in the merry band of superheroes that protected the world from all the big baddies needed to put up their tights and capes and get a useful degree. He’d gladly spend Bruce’s money to go see them, as long as Bruce wasn’t able to get his hands on those files and learned to respect doctor-patient confidentiality. 

Hell would freeze over first, he was sure of it. 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Alfred asked instead, rather than pushing the subject. 

“Only if you make one for yourself and tell me more dumb shit that Bruce does when he’s sick.” 

The butler cracked a small smile. “I’ll be here well into tomorrow if I were to do that.” 

Jason laughed and coughed some more. 

While Alfred prepared the tea (Jason was still convinced even after all these years that no one did it better than him, no matter what the blend), he queued up Netflix to find something to put on in the background. As he scrolled around, the title of a baking show caught his attention. 

_The Great British Baking Show._ Was that…? No, it couldn’t be. But Jason did what any son of the Bat would do and clicked on it. 

“Holy crap,” he breathed as the familiar opening started playing. Instantly, he paused it and waited for Alfred to return. Memories of afternoons in the Manor kitchen learning how to recreate some of the less complex recipes with an old man who was the closest thing to a grandfather that he’d ever had flooded through him. This show and the time spent baking together had been _theirs_ , something that he’d never had to share with Bruce or Dick. Nostalgic? Yes, but only because Jason had a sudden yearning to return to those simpler times where he still managed to sift more flour onto himself than into the bowl. 

The old butler’s face expressed his displeasure of the lack of proper tea cups in the apartment, as well as saucers, when he sat down beside Jason and handed him a mug full of steaming hot tea. “I found green Earl Gray in your cupboard,” Alfred pronounced. “I added a dash of lemon and a wee bit of honey to yours.” 

“Thanks,” Jason said, accepting the cup. He nodded over to the TV and hit play. “Look what I just found.” 

Alfred’s eyes widened in clear surprise as the show stated playing. “My word, I had no idea it made its way over to this side of the pond.” 

“Neither did I,” Jason agreed. “It’s called something a little different, but it looks the same. Do you still watch it on BBC?” 

“No,” Alfred replied after a moment. “I stopped after you…left us.” The slight hitch in his voice said it all and Jason felt like a complete and utter tool. 

“I can put something else on,” he offered quickly, but Alfred was already shaking his head. 

“Please, leave it on. We both enjoyed this show, if I recall.” 

Jason let it be and settled in on the sofa, tea in one hand and his hand clutched around his afghan with another. Beside him, Alfred sat as he always did, upright and without a hint of a slouch, as though this was as relaxed as he got. Silence reigned supreme for a few minutes before Alfred frowned slightly. “That will never work. His batter is much too loose.” 

Chuckling, Jason raised his mug to his mouth to hide his grin. “Yeah? You think you could do better?” 

“Of course. Even you could make a better sponge.”

They shared a glance and Jason knew he was falling for the trap Alfred had just set, but he didn’t care in the slightest. “I dunno. It’s been awhile since I’ve baked anything besides cookies.” 

“Then it’s past time you relearned how to make a proper Swiss roll.” 

“Can I start with the Victoria sponge? Those are so much easier.” 


End file.
